Celeste rose ere the break of day.
Without stirring a soul, she crept to the kitchen. She stacked the firewood with care and, taking the tinder Darien had left, set a small heap of sawdust ablaze beneath the logs.
"Cough, cough—"
The wood was damp, and thick smoke stung her eyes, yet she did not relent. When the flames took hold and the logs burned steady, she turned to her tasks.
Today she would attempt to recreate the boeuf bourguignon she had once seen Darien prepare with such ease. Though ingredients were scant, she made do: chunks of beef, root vegetables, a few leeks, and scattered onions. She followed the steps she recalled, trusting her instincts.
While the stew simmered, she turned to the side: the leftover focaccia. The pieces had grown firm with age, yet she resolved to warm them anew.
She placed them upon the griddle, setting it over the fire. A flicker of pride crossed her features—until she noticed the flames had died.
With a soft gasp, Celeste fetched more firewood, rekindling the blaze with a still-glowing log from the stove. Smoke curled thick and pungent, stinging her eyes.
"Cough, cough—"
When the fire steadied, she lifted the focaccia carefully. It softened nicely, the scent of herbs and oil filling the air.
But then, a harsher smell reached her nose—something burning.
"No—!" she cried, rushing to the Boeuf Bourguignon. Steam billowed as she lifted the lid. The aroma was still rich, but dark scorch marks clung to the pot's bottom. She had boiled it too long.
Quickly, Celeste salvaged what she could, scooping tender meat and vegetables into a clean bowl. Not perfect, yet hearty and comforting.
As she arranged the tray—stew, warm Bourguignon, and a few soft-bread counted by heart—several servants burst in, eyes wide.
"What befell the kitchen? Smoke everywhere! Is there fire?"
They halted at the sight of her soot-streaked, wide-eyed, clutching the tray.
"Fear not," Celeste said, steadying her voice. "Merely smoke. Return to your duties."
One timid maid whispered, "My lady… the chimney flap was left closed…"
Celeste's cheeks flushed. Of course—she had known, yet in her haste, she had forgotten. She pulled the lever, and smoke fled up the chimney, clearing the kitchen air.
Tray in hand, she made her way to Darien's chamber.
The sun had just risen, gilding Brindlemark in soft gold. Servants moved quietly, yet Celeste's mind remained fixed.
"Will Darien find it to his liking? Too salty? Too plain? Or will he not eat at all?"
She pushed the doubts aside and took a steadying breath.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Darien… breakfast is served. I have brought it for thee."
No answer.
She waited, then rapped again.
Still silence.
Unease fluttered in her breast. Cautiously, she pressed upon the door—it yielded easily.
The chamber lay empty.
She stepped inside, eyes sweeping every corner.
Nothing.
The study, too, was deserted.
"So… he is truly gone…"
Celeste scarce wished to believe that Darien had departed, yet he had sworn he would return. Her heart wavered between hope and fear.
All she had seen of Darien—his riches, his ways, his world—was far beyond Brindlemark. To one such as he, was not this place backward and simple? Could he truly come back?
A pang struck her heart. Brindlemark might endure without him—but she feared she might not.
Quietly, she set the tray down and took a spoonful of the boeuf bourguignon she had labored to prepare. She tasted it… paused… and frowned.
"…Too salty."
---
Darien opened his eyes to the familiar ceiling of his room—back in his own apartment, and in fine spirits.
He swung his legs from the bed. With a mere thought, his tunic and hose were replaced by a long-sleeve shirt, pants, and sneakers.
At the fridge, he grabbed a tub of yogurt, licked the lid, and muttered:
"Wonder what Celeste had for breakfast… Bet she's back to boiling that salty meat! Can't even fry an egg right."
He shook his head—no faith in her cooking. Eggs alone were a disaster; what else could he expect?
Buzz—buzz.
Phone vibrating like crazy.
Dozens of missed calls.
A few from Eliana, the rest from numbers he didn't recognize.
Probably that Dupré guy—the antique appraiser.
If he's blowing up my phone like this, it's gotta be serious. Maybe something with that chalice and coins.
Since Dupré had been straight with him—and even helped him score $68,800—Darien figured it was worth the call.
Darien hit up Eliana's number first.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- Boeuf Bourguignon, the famous French beef stew with wine and vegetables, originated in Burgundy. While the modern recipe dates to the 19th century, European cooks had been making similar hearty stews for centuries.
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